


My Eyes Are Opened

by orphan_account



Series: Smut Promptathon [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, Hand Jobs, Jewelry, M/M, takes place in a universe where Melkor didn't crash the making-up party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is only for peace I obey him, Nolofinwë tells himself, but this goes far beyond simple deference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Eyes Are Opened

They were no longer enemies, and Ñolofinwë  dressed accordingly - at Fëanáro's instruction.  
  
"The darkest of them - the indigo," he instructed, from his post near the door, when Ñolofinwë hesitated at the robes. "Don't bother to fasten it."  
  
Ñolofinwë did not look at him as he dressed, but obeyed silently. Perhaps his brother had thought he would break his calm, renege on his promise at being ordered about as if he belonged to Fëanáro; but there had been truth in his words. He did not want any more conflict if it could be helped. He would do anything, he told himself, as he moved on to the jewelry, to keep the House of Finwë from breaking apart, even if it was humiliating.  
  
It was more difficult to reconcile the fact that he was half-hard with his willingness to keep, and rather awkward to think that it was due to Fëanáro commanding him. But that too, he told himself, he could endure.  
  
"Where dost thou keep the ornaments I made for thee?" Fëanáro asked, and perhaps it was only Ñolofinwë's imagination that leant a note of hunger to his voice, but it sent a trembling through him.  
  
"It did not feel right to wearing them while we were quarreling," he said, still not looking at Fëanáro - now because he found himself becoming afraid of what he might or might not see, of the possibility that for Fëanáro this was merely a humiliation without more than an emotional satisfaction.  
  
"Find them, now. Put them on."  
  
Ñolofinwë bit his lip to avoid further protest, and went to the bottommost drawer of one jewelry box. Fëanáro would at least be able to tell that he had kept them carefully, nestled in soft cloth; his brother had made him few enough ornaments in the past, brief signs of kindness and favor, and he had treasured every one. In the dark days of strife between them, they had seemed the only reminder that he had once had a little of - if never completely - his brother's love.  
  
Two pairs of earrings - Fëanáro said nothing, so Ñolofinwe chose. Tiny white gems that fell like drops of water from a fountain, illuminated by Telperion's light - Fëanáro had a way of capturing a moment of time in the beauty of his designs. Next came the few bracelets and arm-bands, silver and white and a few flushed with blue as a maiden's cheek might be flushed with red, faint and lovely; again Fëanáro did not speak, so Ñolofinwë put them all on. They were not too many, and in a way suited each other.  
  
The circlet of brilliant gems that Fëanor had given him in the past still fit, contrary to Ñolofinwë's fears; he thought the one necklace he had might as well, although the color did not suit what he was wearing - but when he reached for it, Fëanáro's voice, much closer than he had expected, interrupted.  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Fëanáro -" He was about to steel himself, to turn and look and perhaps ask his brother what, exactly, the meaning of all this was; but then Fëanáro's fingertips were on his neck, and the coolness of metal, and in the mirror to his right he caught a glimpse of the look in his brother's eyes. Swallowing hard, a hot weight beginning to spread in earnest through his loins, Ñolofinwë stilled and allowed Fëanáro to clasp this new piece about his neck.  
  
It was small, fitting snugly against his neck; although he could tell that it suited him well, it put Ñolofinwë in mind of a collar, and from the glitter he had seen in Fëanáro's eyes he could guess that his brother might have that in in mind as well. The fastening of it was closed, and Fëanáro's fingers left his neck, but not his body. They drifted up to finger the falls of white gemstones from Ñolofinwë's ears, trace the edge of the circlet; then down, slow across his chest, until Fëanáro's hands wrapped gently over Ñolofinwë's wrists, making the bracelets clink together.  
  
"Thou shalt follow where I lead, hm?" Fëanáro's voice was dark, speculative; Ñolofinwë didn't know whether to relax or not. Was this really only a test of his loyalty, seeing if he would balk at this possessive behavior? But the look in his brother's eyes...  
  
"Yes," he replied hoarsely, not sure what else to say, praying that Fëanáro had not noticed his arousal but knowing there was little chance he would not, even if he had somehow overlooked it before.  
  
Fëanáro gave a low sigh, warm against his neck. "I have missed seeing thee," he said, "in the jewels I selected for thee, the ornaments I made."  
  
Even in this situation, frozen and unsure, cock half-hard against his thigh, Ñolofinwë could not keep himself from seeking an adavantage to be won. "It pleases thee?" he asked, letting his voice go rough with hunger as it wished to. Sure enough, he felt an answering pressure of arousal from behind him, and Fëanáro gave a low hum of approval.  
  
"It does indeed."  
  
His hand shifted, laying flat against Ñolofinwë's hip; Ñolofinwë caught his breath in anticipation, but Fëanáro did not reach into the open folds of his robe. Instead, he kissed his neck - lips part against skin, part against the metal of the necklace - and said, "Thou art beautiful."  
  
The words ripped through the defences in Ñolofinwë's mind, sank into his thoughts and blossomed there like the beginning of a fire. He turned his head as far as he could, trying to see Fëanáro's face through the corner of his eye, and then realized that he could see it in the mirror - what was not turned away, at least. Quiet eyes, no sign of laughter about the lips.  
  
"Truly?" he still asked, voice shaking a little.  
  
"It is time to cast our anger aside, thou said." Fëanáro's fingers caressed, gently, tracing the outline of Ñolofinwë's hipbone. His voice was more gentle than Ñolofinwë had heard in... years. "I was angry when I was summoned here, but... Thou art a fair sight in the ornaments I made for thee; it quiets my anger."  
  
Ñolofinwë takes a half-hearted moment to say to himself; _it is only for the sake of peace I do this,_ before turning his head a litle more and catching Fëanáro's mouth gently with his.  
  
When he had dreamed - and he had dreamed, ashamed but never able to deny the dreaming - of his brother in the past, when he was firmly half-brother in his mind, their joinings had been fiercer things; teeth in shoulder, hand on throat, fucking without care. His mind had dreamed of, perhaps, Fëanáro wishing to teach him a lesson, or himself confronting Fëanáro with his foolishness and forcing him to obey and listen for once.  
  
This was soft, soft and slow and ridiculously strange. Fëanáro's hand moved almost lazily to take hold on Ñolofinwë's cock, the pad of his thumb stroking slowly back from the head and encouraging it into fullness. Their lips parted, and Fëanáro shifted his stance, pressing a shoulder against Ñolofinwë's back until Ñolofinwë, confused, responded to the gesture by leaning his head back against Fëanáro. They were close enough in height that they fit together well this way.  
  
 _What peace is this for?_ some part of Ñolofinwë's mind asked, as Fëanáro's hand began to move again, slow and clever. _Are you really so concerned with the effects of your feud, or do you only care that he no longer hates you?_  
  
"Brother," Fëanáro said in his ear, and the sound has perhaps the opposite effect than it should; Ñolofinwë gasped and rolled his hips up, into Fëanáro's touch, into the ridges of his fingers and the warmth of his palm.  
  
"I will forgive you," Fëanáro says, and part of Ñolofinwë says _: I am the one who should be doing the forgiving, you held a sword to my throat,_ but ah, it can be silenced for a moment for the sake of peace; and the rest of Ñolofinwë almost sobs aloud and thrusts a little into Fëanáro's hand and says, "Brother," in return, because it seems the sweetest of words at the moments; forgiveness and acceptance and -  
  
\- and above all, _peace,_ peace in the new weight of the circle 'round his neck, new proof of his brother's love; peace in the hungry glimmer of Fëanáro's eyes he caught sight of in the mirror, of how he finds Fëanáro watching him there as well. Peace in Fëanáro's free hand laid warm and heavy on his chest, keeping him steady, allowing Ñolofinwë to freely thrust into his stroking, encircling hand.  
  
There is peace to be found, as well, in the almost-silence after he comes, broken only by the trembling gasps of his own breath and the bell-like whispers of his earrings set swinging by his shaking; and Fëanáro still holding him, solid against his back, and his lips pressed against Ñolofinwë's throat.  
  
"In heart," he murmurs, as if remembering something, and traces the outline of one of Ñolofinwë's bracelets; something he gave him shortly before things went sour.  
  
Perhaps this, Ñolofinwë admits to himself, is the peace he wanted. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] My Eyes Are Opened by Maure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300645) by [pumpkinpodfic (thegreatpumpkin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/pumpkinpodfic)




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